


human error

by InvadingThoughts



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Angst, Best Friends, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake AH Crew, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Guns, Love Confessions, M/M, Michael Being an Idiot, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9183229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvadingThoughts/pseuds/InvadingThoughts
Summary: They haven’t spoken in six months.There’s been nothing to even suggest that Michael and Ray are even still best friends, or allies, or acquaintances.





	

They haven’t spoken in six months: there’s been no brief, catch-up phone call full of awkward silences to set the clock back to zero; there’s been no quick text message of a joke shared in the heat of the moment, no followed up embarrassed message because they’d accidentally forgotten about the self-inflicted silence.

There’s been nothing to even suggest that Michael and Ray are even still best friends, or allies, or acquaintances.

It’s in the evenings, though, when things get… difficult. When Michael’s had one too many beers and he lacks that crippling fear that follows him when he’s sober; the one that demands he doesn’t contact Ray. His phone seems to taunt him on those nights, reminding him that his best friend is literally right there within his reach- that he could pick up the damn phone and call him, _right now_. And he’s come close, hand hovering over “BrownNERD” in his contacts list so many times that he’s lost count. He could call him, he could make the first move- but then he thinks about the last time they talked to each other- and Michael’s phone ends up tossed in his nightstand drawer, hidden away and ignored.

It’s like a song on repeat, one that Michael’s forced to constantly relive; so it’s not really a surprise when he finds himself in the same situation yet again. His phone is in his hand- a beer bottle in the other- _so close_ to just taking that final leap. He’s pretty sure he’s drunk, there's a buzz in the back of his head and his fingers can’t stop twitching. So honestly, it’s a setup for failure, because if there’s one thing Michael knows about Ray, it’s that his best friend can’t stand it when he’s drunk.

(He finds it pathetic that he still calls Ray his best friend, since he can probably guess- for good reason, too- that he no longer holds that title from Ray.)

Back when they talked, back when Ray used to spend the night at Michael’s apartment without hesitation. There was a time- that Michael can only distantly remember- when Ray would crawl between his bed sheets and tuck his smaller body up against his. At first, he’d been hesitant, unsure of Ray’s motives- unsure of his own motives. But like everything else they did, a sense of familiarity quickly settled between them and it became second nature for Michael to wrap his arms around Ray’s waist and pull him tight against him. They’d lay like that, pressed together in a way that was usually reserved for lovers, yet seemed oddly perfect for them.

(Were they lovers? Did they pass some unseen point in time where they could confidently describe one another as their other half?)

“I hated him,” he would whisper, and Michael would freeze, hesitant to even breathe lest it results in Ray falling silent, “I hated him so much. He used to always smell like liquor; used to joke that his blood was ninety percent alcohol too. It was all a joke to him, didn’t give a _fuck_ about what I thought. What I _felt_.”

If he thinks about it- if he lets himself fall back to that night- Michael’s pretty sure he can still remember his reply.

_“I give a fuck about what you think.”_

Even now, well into the point where he’s sure there’s no way to fix this, Michael know’s he still means it. God, he’s such a fucking idiot.

☾ ☽

Six months will quickly turn into eight months if you don’t pay attention and so Michael tries to convince himself that if Ray wanted to talk to him, he’d message him. It’s a one way ticket to regret, but Michael’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

He doesn’t call.

☾ ☽

They have a timeline. It goes like this.

Michael is currently 29 years old. Ray is 27.

They met for the first time at 16 and 14, respectfully. They don’t become friends; rather Ray steals his backpack and Michael chases him three blocks, finally cornering the small kid in an alley beside a laundromat and a 7/11. He gives the kid a broken nose, a dislocated shoulder and leaves him there curled up in the dirt.

They meet again, for the second time, in a Taco Bell carpark at 4am. 20 and 18; neither of them quite able to forget the other since their first meeting. They don’t become friends; rather Ray breaks Michael’s arm and leave him bleeding out behind a shitty 2002 Toyota Camry- a bullet wound in his upper thigh. Even now though, Michael still doesn’t know if Ray missed his femoral artery on purpose, or by complete accident.

They meet again, for the third time; 23 and 21. They become friends, but how, Michael doesn’t even know himself.

_He's standing on the sidewalk, watching his apartment building burn; He’s watching twenty-three years of junk, and memorabilia and possessions burn and yet he doesn’t care._

_The fire department is doing their best to save the building, but whatever caused the fire originated from his apartment- so he knows it’s all gone. His guess, a grenade or two tossed through his window by the fire escape; but he’s not going upstairs to fucking play detective._

_“I’m guessing this is where you used to live?”_

_The voice comes from behind him, but Michael doesn’t need to turn around to know who it belongs to. Funny enough, despite only meeting twice, Ray has been cemented into his memory whether he likes it or not. He’s seventy percent sure Ray also shares the same problem._

_He can’t ignore the other forever though- not even sure he wants to- so in the end he does end up turning around, catching the sight of Ray’s blinding grin. Part of him wonders if this was Ray’s doing, but then he remembers bleeding out in a Taco Bell car park at 4am and he realises Ray already got his revenge._

_They stare at each other for a few moments, both trying to silently decide if the other is worth their time when Ray sighs._

_“You can stay at my place.”_

So yeah, they become friends; but how, Michael doesn’t even know himself. Instead, he just thanks his lucky stars and thanks anyone who’s listening that he didn't become Ray’s nemesis in that moment instead.

☾ ☽

He feels numb- from head to toe- the kind that starts slowly until it's all you can feel.

Maybe he’s dissociating, maybe he’s having a panic attack; all Michael knows is that he’s frozen on the spot- watching _them_. There was a point, where he’d thought they’d saw him- a brief moment of eye contact that had forced his heart to stop beating- but nothing but boredom flickered over Ray’s face so he chalked it up to paranoia.

He can see them through the front window of Ponsonby's- a clothing store well known for both its high-priced fashion _and_ it’s bulletproof windows- and by God, it’s so hard not to just go to him. To walk up to Ray and say hello, or to hug him, or to get his shit kicked in by Geoff- who is to his left, flicking through the new imported suit jackets.

He knows he’d be unwelcomed, he knows that Ray would blanch at the sight of him; but it would almost be worth the black eye he’d receive to just hear Ray’s voice again.

His feet move without his permission, fast-paced steps that propel him to the clothing store. He makes it to the front door before he’s seen, before Ray’s eyes dart to catch the movement in the corner of his eye, before his gaze falls on Michael. Arm extended to push open the door, he watches his best friend’s face flash with a quick array of emotions. Once upon a time, he could read them all, could pick out Ray’s emotions with a quick glance and a low _“What’s up?”_ Once upon a time, they were inseparable, but time is a bitch and things change relatively quickly in Los Santos.

After a moment, Ray shakes his head- a small movement that’s barely noticeable- and Michael swallows deeply. Geoff’s still not looking at him, Ray’s within reach and Michael’s not sure he can do this again.

It's a decision, it’s a choice: leave now and forget about him, or stay and don’t.

He pushes open the door, listening to the small bell jingle above him- but his eyes never stray from Ray’s face. Michael doesn’t understand how Ray can look so small standing beside Geoff. Like all of the fight has drained out of his body; it just looks wrong and Michael hates it. The man standing before him, it’s not his Ray, and it’s infuriating. So when he catches the slight flicker of fear in Ray’s eyes- his hands curl up into fists by his sides.

Because he’s the cause of this. This is his fault.

Geoff spins on his heel, reading the panic in Ray’s body language. His hand automatically moving to the gun tucked into the back of his pants by pure instinct- but when he sees Michael though, he pulls it out completely. It’s loaded, aimed and seconds away from being fired when Ray speaks.

“Oh, _Michael_. _You_ weren’t the one who had to leave.”

☾ ☽

To understand something, you must have the full story, that’s just how it goes.

He and Ray haven’t spoken in eight months; yeah, that’s true. But- that’s not all there is- there's a fact that’s been left out by purposeful omission. Michael hasn’t spoken to _anyone_ in the fake ah crew in eight months, not just Ray.

And if there's one thing he knows, you can’t just leave the crew without consequence.

☾ ☽

They have a timeline. It goes like this.

At age 27, on March 16th, Michael takes a job for a man named Geoff Ramsey. He does what’s expected of him, doesn’t ask questions and goes back to his apartment to find Ray waiting for him. It’s fine, they’re fine.

At age 27, on June 3rd, Michael takes another job from Geoff Ramsey- his seventh? Eighth? He hasn’t kept count- but this time Ray joins him. They do what’s expected of them, they don’t ask questions; but while Ray’s waiting for him in his Adder, Geoff asks him a question. _“Are you and that Brownman kid fucking? No sweat off my back if you are, just curious.”_ The question sticks with him so much, that Michael can’t sleep that night.

At age 28, on November 5th, Ray jumps off a roof after being chased by the lspd and breaks his ankle. He calls Michael- Michael who is halfway through a Mario Party game with Gavin and his girlfriends’ Lindsay and Meg; Michael who is slightly drunk and not at all in the right state to be driving- who rushes to meet him, catching his friend curled up in a dumpster with wet tear tracks drying on his face and an ankle that’s turning purple.

At age 28, on December 25th, Michael has six presents hidden in his bedroom closet, all for Ray. A new bong, two tickets to a Blink 182 concert, keys to a new motorcycle, a new pair of shoes, a snickers bar and grey beanie.

At age 28, on December 26th, Michael gets four presents from Ray. An engraved pocket knife, blue hair dye, a pair of socks and keys to a Volatus helicopter.

At age 28, on January 1st, Michael kisses Gavin when the countdown hits zero and everyone laughs. Everyone except Ray.

At age 28, on January 3rd, Michael corners Ray at the penthouse and asks him- no- **_demands_** \- to know why he’s ignoring him. Ray tells him that he's not but then proceeds to bolt from the penthouse, leaving Michael doubting the truth of his words.

At age 28, on January 7th, Michael realises he’s an idiot.

_Michael’s learnt Ray- a side effect of spending so much time together- so Michael knows, clear as day, that Ray is angry with him._

_He just doesn't know why._

_Watching Ray now- spine rigid and shoulders tense- cursing at the coffee machine, it's obviously a situation he’s not going to be able to get out of with just a quick apology. He sighs lowly and moves quickly, leaning against the counter- staring at Ray’s back._

_“What did I do?”_

_“Nothing.”_

_“Bullshit.”_

_Ray sighs, something so defeated and spins to face Michael. Eye contact makes it worse, makes a low level of guilt settle in his stomach because of the hurt- pure, unhideable hurt- on Ray’s face cuts at him. He doesn’t know if Ray understands that Michael can read his so well, he doesn’t know if Ray thinks he’s still hiding his emotions, but he’s not._

_He opens his mouth to say something, whether it’s too apologise or just to ask again what he's done to cause this, when Gavin’s bedroom door swings open._

_The golden boy doesn't notice the thick smog of tension suffocating them, either out of obliviousness or ignorance, so he doesn't linger. But Michael’s fast- quick-witted and observant- so he can't help but notice the way Ray’s eyes harden when he catches sight of Gavin; the way his mouth falls open ever so slightly._

_A tell, pointing directly at the source of his upset._

_Oh._

_Ray seems to realise that Michael understands in that moment too, eye contact breaking and fingernails digging into the skin of his palms. Michael wants to stop him, lest he draw blood and end up hurting himself, but he doesn’t dare touch Ray._

_“Can we not- can we just not do this, Michael?” He whispers brokenly and Michael- the man known for his bravery- runs._

_He nods slowly, takes a few steps back and then rushes to the front door- doing his best to avoid looking at the destroyed expression he knows is on Ray’s face._

So yeah, it takes haphazard love admission for Michael to run. He leaves and he doesn't come back, because love in this business is a death sentence and Michael’s not sure he could do that. Get attached, halve his soul and give part of it to Ray, only to watch it get destroyed when the inevitable happens- when Ray leaves… Or... when Ray dies.

☾ ☽

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn to months; phone calls go unanswered and messages get ignored. The silence cuts at him, just enough for him to realise what he’s done- what he's invertedly lost.

He doesn't go back, because it's been to long and he’s missed his chance with Ray- messed up the life he had and could have had. He can't go back- because you don't just leave the crew by choice. He can't go back- because you don't just break your best friend’s- lovers- crushes- heart and then get to come back and ask for a second chance.

He's out. He stays out. He’s weak. He comes back.

☾ ☽

Geoff lowers the gun pointed at him even so slightly, but it’s very obviously still aimed at his chest and Michael knows the threat is still there- unspoken. He knows that Geoff wont hesitate to shoot him if he presents himself as a risk, if he tried to start something inside the small clothing store. If he even so happens to look at either of them wrong, Geoff will shoot, no hesitation- even if they were practically family before he left.

Michael knows he’s not a risk- at least, not to his family, to his crew- but Ray has taken a step back from him and Michael can see that he’s a second away from running. Ray’s afraid of him, and he’d be stupid not to know why. The last time they saw each other, the last time they talked to each other, Ray let slip his feelings and Michael crushed them under his feet on his way out of the penthouse.

The words stuck to the tip of his tongue would be easier to say if Geoff weren’t standing in the room with them. He hadn’t thought this far ahead when he pushed open the glass doors, he hadn’t thought at all really- an action based on a whim that he can’t back out of now. So he doesn’t- instead he stands a little taller, puffs out his chest slightly to give the illusion of confidence and glances at Geoff out of the corner of his eye.

The older man’s a mind reader- _Michael’s absolutely sure_ \- because he jerks the gun back up and shakes it at him. “Nah, no way buddy. You’re an idiot if you think I’m leaving you alone with him for even a _half_ a second,” Geoff says. He plants his feet firmly in a stance that tells Michael there’ll be no arguing with him and Michael sighs, looking back at Ray.

He feels like he’s seven again, trying to apologise to his foster-mother for very deliberately starting a fire in the backyard. He feels like he’s ten again, trying to apologise to his teacher for calling her a ‘stupid bitch’ for giving him homework on a Friday. He feels like he’s twenty again, trying to apologise to a Puerto Rican kid in a Taco Bell carpark because he just can’t seem to stop. He can’t seem to just stop provoking those types of situations, the one’s where he knows he’s in the wrong, but his words of apology never come.

Ray takes pity on him, or maybe he’s just trying to end the conversation faster, because he ducks his head slightly and mumbles, “Don’t worry ‘bout it, Michael- I get it.” It’s an out, he’s offering Micael an out- but he can’t help but grit his teeth at such a submissive action. That’s not Ray, that’s nothing like Ray; to give up without a fight, to let Michael get away without retribution for his actions- it’s almost as if he’s talking to a completely different person.

“What?” he spits, something a bit too aggressive for Geoff, who furrows his brow and gives Michael a dark look. So he tries again, removing all trace of harshness from his tone. “What? What is that supposed to mean?” He’s not finished, he shouldn’t be finished; he should tell Ray that this is all on him, that he’s the one to blame for this whole shit storm. He should apologise, he should just do anything really, other than just stand there and stare at his best friend.

But he doesn’t, because Michael doesn’t know how to apologise.

Ray just shrugs, hunching in on himself but he still holds eye contact. “Come on man, don’t- don’t play stupid, yeah? I fucked things up, brought feelings into this- _into us_ \- and so I get why you left. Don’t- don’t make me, fuck, _please_ don’t...”

Michael’s stomach drops, and the breath he sucks in sounds harsh even to himself.

Ray’s taking the blame, he’s taking Michael’s fault and putting it on his own shoulders; Michael has the small thought that maybe that’s why he stopped calling, why he stopped messaging- not because he blamed Michael for just leaving, but because he thought Michael blamed him for making _them_ complicated. He opens his mouth- to apologise, to beg for forgiveness, _to just get Ray back_ \- but all that comes out is dead air and Ray sinks in on himself, curling up on himself and ducking his head.

“Alright, fuck off Michael- you useless prick. You had your chance, now get out of my sight,” Geoff spits and Michael jerks back, finding himself agreeing with Geoff’s cutthroat words.

He looks down at the floor, mind quickly filling with self-loathing as he realises that he’s doing it again; he’s seven and he’s getting sent back to the group home again because he’s to difficult to look after. He’s ten again, getting a week's suspension for the fifth time already that year. He’s twenty again, bleeding out with a bullet wound because he just doesn’t know when to stop. He doesn’t know when to stop.

He doesn’t know when to stop.

He sucks in a small breath and lets it out through clenched teeth, glancing back up at Ray one last time before he has to leave. His best friend isn’t looking at him, eyes deliberately turned away and Michael hates it.

“This isn’t your fault, Ray.”

The words just slip out without a second thought, and Michael catches sight of Ray’s head snapping up so he can meet his eyes. But Michael’s already pushing his way out of the clothing store, heartbeat pounding in his chest because it might not have been an apology, it might not have been what Ray needed.

But it was a start.

☾ ☽

It’s two days later, when his phone buzzes from it’s place on his night stand, that he realises just how much he missed this. Just how much he missed Ray- missed talking to him, missed being with him, missed knowing him. It's a simple text, nothing more than a basic _‘hey’_ \- but it means the world to Michael. He just sits there for a while, reading and re-reading the one-word text again and again, trying to convince himself that it’s real. They’ve got to talk, that’s why Ray is texting him of course, but Michael just needs a moment first- before things get heavy. He sucks in a breath and shoots back a quick, _‘hey’_ in return.

He needs things to go back to how they were- no, he needs things to get  _better_. He doesn’t want Ray to hide from him, he doesn’t want to run from the people he cares about- he wants. He just wants.

**From brownNERD**

_‘Uh, I’ve missed you,’_

Michael doesn’t know how Ray can just throw himself out there so easily, as if he still trusts Michael. God knows he couldn’t do that, but Ray’s always been just a bit better than him at everything, so it shouldn’t really surprise him that much. He swallows down his own unease and quickly types out his reply, fingers shaking.

**To brownNERD**

_‘I’ve missed you too.’_

_Don’t leave the conversation dead_ , Michael tries to tell himself, _don’t force this onto Ray; don’t make him have to keep this alive_ \- but he can’t and he grits his teeth. He can’t keep it going, because everything he want’s to say is too much. He wants to apologise, he wants to tell Ray just how much he misses them falling asleep together, he wants to tell Ray just how much he loves him and how much that scares him- but the words stick to his tongue and he can’t.

He’s stuck in his own emotional incompetence and it’s aggravating.

**From brownNERD**

_‘So, ah, what did you mean?’_

_‘Like, when you said it wasn’t my fault?’_

_‘Of course it’s my fault, Michael,'_

_‘You don’t have to lie to me,_

He’s dialing Ray’s phone number before he even realises it, and when the line clicks over and he knows Ray’s listening, time just seems to stop. Because he can hear Ray breathing through the phone, can picture him so clearly sitting in his apartment, in the penthouse, waiting for Michael to talk- and it’s definitely Michael who has to speak first, he called, he talks.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers and Ray’s breath hitches audibly. “It’s not your fault. It's mine? Cause I’m an idiot? You know that right?” He poses it like a question, but he’s not waiting for an answer. Ray tries though, a small, “Michael-” slips past his lips but he effectively cuts him off. He’s gotta get it out, he can’t just keep giving up- he has to stop.

“I am, it’s not a question. I-I’m an idiot and I’m so s-sor- _fuck_ . Look, I left- I _ran,_ because I can’t- I can’t, _shit_ . But you need to understand, that this isn’t on you, it’s on me,” he says, words tumbling out in a rush and Michael’s not even sure if Ray can understand him. His heart is pounding, because this is it? This is all he can muster for an apology? He grits his teeth, wishing he could do better; wishing he could _be_ better. Be something that Ray deserves, be someone that Ray deserves- instead of what he is now, an emotionally constipated criminal that can’t tell his best friend he loves him.

“Michael, Michael  _stop-_ you can’t, you can’t take all the blame, yeah? I fell for, uh, I complicated things, and you don’t do complicated, so I should have known better,” Ray replies, just as rushed and just as panicked as Michael. He’d laugh, in any other moment, at how ridiculous they sound- trying to convince the other that they’re not to blame- but right now Michael can’t do anything but squeeze his eyes shut and argue back.

“No, I can- _I can,_ I _swear._ I can do complicated, we were doing complicated, right? I wasn’t imagining it? We were doing complicated long before we even realised it ourselves. It just, scared me? To realise, so explicitly, what we were becoming. It scared me and I ran, leaving you alone- but I won't do it again. Fuck, never again,” he swears, and Ray’s quiet on the other side of the phone. He doesn’t answer, and Michael’s stomach drops. He can’t stand the silence, so he tries again, words a lot more hesitant this time.

“Ah… I just, I fucked up. I made you think, for eight months, that this was all on you- all because I was too afraid to call you. So yeah… this is my fault, I should just- I should just go.” He lets his words sit for a second, waiting for something from Ray; whether it’s angry yelling or a cold dismissal, he just wants any sort of reaction. But Ray stays quiet and Michael sighs, pulling his phone away from his ear and hanging up the call.

Now that Ray knows, now that Ray realises that it’s Michael’s fault- he doesn’t want to deal with him, not that Michael blames him. It’s just a bit to hard to stomach the idea, to know for sure that nothing is salvageable between the two of them and so Michael turns off his phone, discarding it into the top drawer of his bedside table. He rolls over, tugging the sheets over his head and presses his face into his pillow, trying to block out the world.

He still hasn’t apologised.

☾ ☽

Something rouses Michael awake at 4:49am, and he just lays there, staring at the ceiling above him. He’s going to be useless today, he can just see it- the heavy fog of depression settling over him so early in the morning. There’s a small amount of light filling the room, and he blinks his eyes a few times to adjust to the change, but he doesn’t have the energy to climb out of bed and fix the curtains. He wants to go back, back in time to when they were simpler, back to when Michael could pull Ray into his arms without questioning if they were _something_.

He sucks in a shaky breath and deliberately ignores the sound of footsteps shuffling around his apartment. He’s got nothing worth stealing here, everything he owns is at the penthouse- which he hasn’t been to in eight months- and if they’re there to kill him, then he’ll get a few good hits before he goes down. He rolls over onto his side the same moment his bedroom door opens, and squeezes his eyes shut. He waits for the press of a knife or the click of a gun, but all he gets in return are fingers touching gently against his face and the sight of Ray when he opens his eyes.

Part of him wonders if maybe he’s just hallucinating, since Ray shouldn’t be there in front of him, Ray shouldn’t want _anything_ to do with him- but he’s there, he’s real and Michael’s heart starts pounding in his chest. Ray moves slowly, hands pressing against Michael’s shoulders to push him backwards until there’s enough room for him to slide in underneath the bedsheets and press his body up against Michael’s. It’s an instant reaction, the second Ray relaxes against him, that Michael’s arms encircle him and pull him tight against his chest.

And then he realises what he’s done.

He’s about to let go, about to apologise for touching him like they used to, but Ray presses his face into the hollow of Michael’s neck and his grip involuntarily tightens. They lie there for a while, neither of them daring to utter a single word and Michael relishes the feeling of having Ray in his arms. He tried to commit the feeling to memory, so that if he never gets the opportunity to have this again, at least he has something.

He feels Ray shift against him, pulling back ever so slightly so that they’re face to face and Michael glances down at him, hands resting in the hollow of his spine.

“You scared the shit out of me, Michael,” he mumbles and Michael opens his mouth to try and apologise, again and again till Ray knows how much he means it- till the words don’t seem real anymore. But Ray reaches up between them and presses a finger to his lips, effectively quieting him and Michael’s not sure if he’d be able to anyway. But it’s not his turn to talk, so he’ll keep his mouth shut and just listen, he can do that, he can do that for Ray. “You left, and I thought I’d never get to see you again. I told myself that I could handle a bit of rejection, that I would bounce back and we’d move on- and it would be fine. But then you didn’t come back, week after week you were gone and I thought, fuck I’ve _ruined_ us.”

“I was afraid,” he whispers back, and Ray meets his gaze. “I was afraid that I’d missed my chance with you, I was afraid to come back and find that you’d moved on and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, cause it would be my own fault.”

Ray shakes his head, a slow deliberate movement and mutters, “You broke my nose, remember? I was fourteen and trying to steal shit so I could pawn it for money, so my dad could pay some bills. You broke my nose and yet I still fucking fell in lo-” he cuts himself off and Michael feels the way Ray tenses in his arms. _Love_. He was going to say love. “I still fucking… didn’t leave...” he finishes lamely, and Michael can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut.

He remembers that day, watching the fear flicker over Ray’s face before he desperately tried to hide it behind false bravado. He remembers being so angry that someone was trying to take something of his, when he barely had anything to begin with. He remembers the pop sound that echoed throughout the alley after he dislocated Ray’s shoulder and the pained scream that followed after.

“Yeah, I remember,” he mumbles, because how could he forget.

“And then I shot you.”

That one's a bit harder, mind fuzzy from the blood loss. He knows they argued, he know’s they tossed insults at each other like they were playing a game of tennis. And he knows that he went too far, cause that’s what he always does.

“Yeah.”

“My dad told me, before he died, that if you ever wanted to kill someone quickly, shoot for their femoral artery. He showed me where to hit.” He pushes himself up onto his elbows, catching Michael’s eyes with a serious look and says, “I knew how to kill you, I could have killed you, but I looked at you and I thought, _four years_. It had been four years since I last saw you, and I wanted to see you again in four years time. And four years after that. I wanted to know why you fought for a shitty backpack so damn hard, I wanted to know why you were at a Taco Bell carpark at 4am, I wanted to know why you didn’t flinch when I pulled my gun on you. And I couldn’t do that if I killed you.”

Michael stares back at him, letting Ray’s words sink in for a moment. “You kept me alive… because my stubborn ass refused to let you think that you intimidated me?”

Ray laughs, shaking his head slowly before lowering himself back down again. “When you put it like that, it sounds stupid- but yeah. That’s exactly why.”

Michael huffs, but on the inside he’s happy that Ray deliberately chose to keep him alive. He’s glad that it wasn’t just a fluke, a lucky miss. “Nah- it’s perfect,” he says, “it suits us.” And the smile Ray offers him in return makes his heart stop beating momentarily. Something must show on his face, something a bit more tender- something that resembles just how much Michael loves him- because in the next moment Ray is tugging his face down until their lips meet and then Michael sees stars.

He doesn’t waste a second, hands gripping Ray’s waist so tight he’s afraid he might leave bruises. He pulls him in close, until they’re chest to chest and he can feel Ray’s heart pounding beneath him- and he kisses the boy back for all he’s worth. It’s like being kissed by lightning, and Michael can’t help but enjoy the burn. It’s everything he wanted it to be, it’s everything he imagined it to be and he doesn’t want to stop. He doesn’t want to stop.

Ray pulls back with a gasp, and when Michael tries to dip in for another kiss, he laughs, tilting his head away slightly. “C’mon man, need to breathe,” he mutters and without a word, Michael just shifts his attention to Ray’s jawline- peppering little kisses across it’s length. He has Ray right where he wants him, and he’d be damned if he’s going to let him go just yet. Ray, for the most part, seems content to be littered with little kisses and he lets out a soft sigh. “You’ll come back to the p-penthouse with me, yeah?” he asks, “G-Geoff will get over himself, he can’t stay mad forever- and I know everyone else misses you. Come back, yeah?”

Michael pauses his onslaught, pulling back just enough to catch Ray’s gaze with a sigh. “I left,” he says and Ray nods.

“Yeah, you did. But that doesn’t mean you can’t come back.”

“Geoff almost tried to kill me the last time he saw me,” he argues and Ray snorts, shaking his head.

“He was just being pissy cause he thought you broke my heart- you know good old daddy Geoff.” Michael watches Ray’s hands drift upwards, until the come to rest on his chest, fingers rubbing small circles into his skin. “We’ll go back, I’ll tell Geoff that were-” he pauses and Michael’s not going to let him out of this one so easy.

“That were dating. That I love you.”

Ray’s breath hitches the same moment Michael’s anxiety spikes, but he ignores it, because this has been a long time coming. It takes Ray a few moments to respond, but when he does it's with a wide grin. “Yeah. I’ll tell Geoff that were dating and that you love me. But I’ll also make sure to tell him that I love y-you too- because I do. I love you, Michael.”

Michael doesn’t answer, instead he just leans in quickly and captures Ray’s mouth in a kiss. He kisses Ray until he feels light headed, he kisses him until they have to pull away lest the pass out, he kisses Ray with everything he’s got, because he _can_. And when they do pull back, Ray’s lips are pink and puffy, and he looks completely ruined- and it’s everything Michael’s dreamed it to be.

But he still hasn’t apologised. And he needs to fix that.

He offers Ray a small, hesitant smile and rests their foreheads together, watching Ray closely as he whispers, “Hey- I need to, I have to say something, yeah? I can’t- I suck at this sort of thing. Never was able to, never could quite take responsibility for my actions growing up. But I need to-” he sucks in a breath- “I need to say I’m s-sorry, yeah? These last eight months, I put you through hell cause- cause I freaked out, but I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, and I swear I’ll never do that to you again.”

Ray smiles back softly, hands moving to frame Michael’s face. “I’m sure the last eight months were just as bad for you, as they were for me, Michael,” he says, and Michael nods, albeit a bit awkwardly with Ray’s hands holding him. “But thank you. Yeah, I-I accept your apology. And just know, that if you _do_ fuck up again, Geoff will be coming for you with a shotgun next time.”

Michael laughs, something loud and carefree- and it doesn’t take long before Ray joins in too, both of them giggling messes, wrapped around each other on Michael’s bed. It’s so much better than before, because now Michael can press kisses into the curve of Ray’s neck and he can run his hands underneath Ray’s shirt. It’s so much better than before, and Michael doesn’t know why he needed eight months to realise it.


End file.
